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- Cleopatra, Volume 8. - 6/10 -

The image of the goddess and the altar were erected beside the other
sanctuaries, and how often the stone was anointed by Barine and the women
of the fisherman's family!

Dion vowed to the goddess a beautiful temple on the cliff and in the city
if she would be gracious to his beloved young wife.

When, in June, the noonday sun blazed most fiercely, the fisherman
brought to the cliff Helena, Barine's sister, and Chloris, Dion's nurse,
who had been a faithful assistant of his mother, and afterwards managed
the female slaves of the household.

How joyously and gratefully Barine held out her arms to her sister! Her
mother had been prevented from coming only by the warning that her
disappearance would surely attract the attention of the spies. And the
latter were very alert; for Mark Antony had not yet given up the pursuit
of the singer, nor had the attorney Philostratus recalled the
proclamation offering two talents for the capture of Dion, and both
the latter's palace and Berenike's house were constantly watched.

It seemed more difficult for the quiet Helena to accommodate herself to
this solitude than for her gayer-natured sister. Plainly as she showed
her love for Barine, she often lapsed into reverie, and every evening
she went to the southern side of the cliff and gazed towards the city,
where her grandparents doubtless sorely missed her, spite of the
careful attention bestowed upon them in Gorgias's house.

Eight days had passed since her arrival, and life in this wilderness
seemed more distasteful than on the first and the second; the longing for
her grandparents, too, appeared to increase; for that day she had gone to
the shore, even under the burning rays of the noonday sun, to gaze
towards the city.

How dearly she loved the old people!

But Dion's conjecture that the tears sparkling in Helena's eyes when she
entered their room at dusk were connected with another resident of the
capital, spite of his wife's indignant denial, appeared to be correct;
for, a short time after, clear voices were heard in front of the-house,
and when a deep, hearty laugh rang out, Dion started up, exclaiming,
"Gorgias never laughs in that way, except when he has had some unusual
piece of good fortune!"

He hurried out as he spoke, and gazed around; but, notwithstanding the
bright moonlight, he could see nothing except Father Pyrrhus on his way
back to the anchorage.

But Dion's ears were keen, and he fancied he heard subdued voices on the
other side of the dwelling. He followed the sound without delay and,
when he turned the corner of the building, stopped short in astonishment,
exclaiming as a low cry rose close before him:

"Good-evening, Gorgias! I'll see you later. I won't interrupt you."

A few rapid steps took him back to Barine, and as he whispered, "I saw
Helena out in the moonlight, soothing her longing for her grandparents in
Gorgias's arms," she clapped her hands and said, smiling:

"That's the way one loses good manners in this solitude. To disturb the
first meeting of a pair of lovers! But Gorgias treated us in the same
way in Alexandria, so he is now paid in his own coin."

The architect soon entered the room, with Helena leaning on his arm.
Hour by hour he had missed her more and more painfully, and on the eighth
day found it impossible to endure life's burden longer without her. He
now protested that he could approach her mother and grandparents as a
suitor with a clear conscience; for on the third day after Helena's
departure the relation between him and the Queen had changed. In
Cleopatra's presence the image of the granddaughter of Didymus became
even more vivid than that of the peerless sovereign had formerly been
in Helena's. Outside of the pages of poetry he had never experienced
longing like that which had tortured him during the past few days.

CHAPTER XXI.

This time the architect could spend only a few hours on the Serpent
Island, for affairs in the city were beginning to wear a very serious
aspect, and the building of the monument was pushed forward even during
the night. The interior of the first story was nearly completed and the
rough portion of the second was progressing. The mosaic workers, who
were making the floor of the great hall, had surpassed themselves.
It was impossible to wait longer for the sculptures which were to adorn
the walls. At present slabs of polished black marble were to occupy the
places intended for bronze reliefs; the utmost haste was necessary.

Octavianus had already reached Pelusium; even if Seleukus, the commander
of the garrison, held the strong fortress a long time, a part of the
hostile army might appear before Alexandria the following week.

A considerable force, however, was ready to meet him. The fleet seemed
equal to that of the enemy; the horsemen whom Antony had led before the
Queen would delight the eye of any one versed in military affairs; and
the Imperator hoped much from the veterans who had served under him in
former times, learned to know his generosity and open hand in the hour of
prosperity, and probably had scarcely forgotten the eventful days when he
had cheerfully and gaily shared their perils and privations.

Helena remained on the cliff, and her longing for the old couple had
materially diminished. Her hands moved nimbly, and her cheerful glance
showed that the lonely life on the island was beginning to unfold its
charms to her.

The young husband, however, had grown very uneasy. He concealed it
before the women, but old Pyrrhus often had much difficulty in preventing
his making a trip to the city which might imperil, on the eve of the
final decision, the result of their long endurance and privation. Dion
had often wished to set sail with his wife for a great city in Syria or
Greece, but fresh and mighty obstacles had deterred him. A special
danger lay in the fact that every large vessel was thoroughly searched
before it left the harbour, and it was impossible to escape from it
without passing through the narrow straits east of the Pharos or the
opening in the Heptastadium, both of which were easily guarded. The calm
moderation that usually distinguished the young counsellor had been
transformed into feverish restlessness, and the heart of his faithful old
monitor had also lost its poise; for an encounter between the fleet in
which his sons served and that of Octavianus was speedily expected.

One day he returned from the city greatly excited. Pelusium was said to
have fallen.

When he ascended the cliff he found everything quiet. No one, not even
Dione, came to meet him.

What had happened here?

Had the fugitives been discovered and dragged with his family to the city
to be thrown into prison, perhaps sent to the stone quarries?

Deadly pale, but erect and composed, he walked towards the house. He
owed to Dion and his father the greatest blessing in life, liberty, and
the foundation of everything else he possessed. But if his fears were
verified, if he was bereft of friends and property, even as a lonely
beggar he might continue to enjoy his freedom. If, for the sake of those
to whom he owed his best possession, he must surrender the rest, it was
his duty to bear fate patiently.

It was still light.

Even when he had approached very near the house he heard no sound save
the joyous barking of his wolf-hound, Argus, which leaped upon him.

He now laid his hand upon the lock of the door--but it was flung open
from the inside.

Dion had seen him coming and, enraptured by the new happiness with which
this day had blessed him, he flung himself impetuously on the breast of
his faithful friend, exclaiming: "A boy, a splendid boy! We will call
him Pyrrhus."

Bright tears of joy streamed down the freedman's face and fell on his
grey beard; and when his wife came towards him with her finger on her
lips, he whispered in a tremulous voice: "When I brought them here you
were afraid that the city people would drag us into ruin, but
nevertheless you received them as they deserved to be, and--he's going to
name him Pyrrhus--and now!--What has a poor fellow like me done to have
such great and beautiful blessings fall to my lot?"

This day of sunny happiness was followed by others of quiet joy, of the
purest pleasure, yet mingled with the deepest anxiety. They also brought
many an hour in which Helena found an opportunity to show her prudence,
while old Chloris and the fisherman's wife aided her by their experience.

Every one, down to the greybeard whose name the little one bore, declared
that there had never been a lovelier young mother than Barine or a
handsomer child than the infant Pyrrhus; but Dion could no longer endure
to remain on the cliff.

A thousand things which he had hitherto deemed insignificant and allowed
to pass unheeded now seemed important and imperatively in need of his
personal attention. He was a father, and any negligence might be harmful
to his son.

With his bronzed complexion and long hair and beard he required little
aid to disguise him from his friends. In the garments shabby by long
use, and with his delicate hands calloused by work in the dock-yard, any
one would have taken him for a real fisherman.

Perhaps it was foolish, but the desire to show himself in the character
of a father to Barine's mother and grandparents and to Gorgias seemed
worth risking a slight danger; so, without informing Barine, who was now
able to walk about her room, he set out for the city after sunset on the
last day of July.

He knew that Octavianus was encamped in the Hippodrome east of
Alexandria. The white mounds which had risen there had been recognized
as tents, even from the Serpent Island. Pyrrhus had returned in the
afternoon with tidings that Antony's mounted troops had defeated those of
Octavianus. This time the news of victory could be trusted, for the
palace at Lochias was illuminated for a festival and when Dion landed
there was a great bustle on the quay. One shouted to another that all
would be well. Mark Antony was his old self again. He had fought like a
hero.